Angels Among Us

by C. E. Barrett

  The hypnotic movement of the swing was slowly putting Seren to sleep. She jerked suddenly, almost drifting off completely. Daffyd looked at her.

  “You should go up to bed, Seren,” he said.

  “Yes, I should,” she agreed. She slid off the swing and stood unsteadily, shaky from weariness. He was at her side in an instant, a hand on her elbow to provide support. It was an opportunity to be close to her without her thinking him perverse.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I will be,” her dimples made a brief appearance. “I'm just really tired. I didn't realize it till just now.”

  “Let me help you upstairs, then.” He kept a gentle grip on her arm.

  “Okay. I just want to check on Devany first.” They went into the house. Seren went into the office to make sure Devany was sleeping peacefully, while Daffyd watched from the doorway. When she came out, she was walking a little more strongly. He stepped back so she could get by, and rather than take her arm again, he merely followed closely. As they climbed the stairs, she called down over her shoulder, “You never did get to show me what was so interesting.”

  “That's right. I didn't,” he replied. “Are you sure you want to see it now? It can wait until morning.”

  “No, now is fine. I mean, really, we're upstairs finally.” She laughed softly, as he joined her in the upper hall.

  “Come here, then,” he led her into the art room and showed her the paintings there. She looked at them cursorily, not registering anything beyond the images represented. She looked up at Daffyd with tired eyes.

  “What am I missing?” she asked.

  “Dust,” he said simply. She stared blankly. “Come look in the bedroom. I'll show you what I mean.” She followed him into the master bedroom. “See here?” he said, running his fingertip across the dresser. He held it up for her to see. She examined the grime on his finger, then lifted her gaze to his face.

  He led her to one of the pictures on the wall. “Touch it,” he said. She did so, tracing a line along the frame and then on the painting itself. “Now look at your hand.” It was clean. Her brow furrowed. She took Daffyd by the wrist and studied the black smudge on his index finger, and then looked at her own again. Finally, she sighed, dropped his arm and stepped back.

  “I think I want to think about this tomorrow,” she said at last. “It's weird, but the whole day has been weird, and I think I've reached my limit. Right now, I just want to put fresh sheets on the bed, crawl in and pass out.”

  Daffyd had taken out his handkerchief and carefully wiped his hand. Although he would have liked to discuss the strangeness of the paintings with Seren, he understood her position. He didn't blame her in the least. His own considerable internal strength was beginning to falter under the day's accumulation. Sleep would probably be the best thing for all of them right now.

  “I'll help,” he offered. While Seren pulled the old covers off the bed, Daffyd searched the linen closet in the hall, looking for the right size sheets. He located a set, and brought them into the bedroom. Seren was peering down a chute in the wall, the old sheets clutched in her arms.

  “I hope this is for laundry,” she said, and threw them in. “And if it's not, at least I don't have that musty smell in here.” She smiled in satisfaction, turning toward Daffyd. “Oh, you sweet thing! You found new ones.”

  Together, they made the bed ready for her. When it was done, she reached out a tentative hand, almost, but not quite touching him.

  “Daffyd, wait a minute.” He paused in the act of turning to leave.

  “Yes?”

  She looked up at him, an uncertain expression on her face, almost a frown. “I just want to say, ‘thank you'.” He started to make an ‘it's nothing’ gesture, but she stopped him. “I don't mean for this,” she said, waving at the bed. “I mean for everything today.” This time she did frown, as she searched for just the right words. “You've been such an anchor for me. I'm not sure how well I would have managed on my own, and meeting you, having you with me, having you there has been so ... I don't know ... comforting? Reassuring?” She stared into the wide blue eyes, willing him to understand her meaning. “I feel blessed that I met you. Does that make sense?”

  He patted her shoulder, causing her some surprise. “Yes, Seren. It does. I feel the same way.” He smiled his odd little smile, lips barely moving, eyes shining gently. She had grown quite fond of that smile over the course of the day.

  “Can I hug you?” A worried line creased her forehead. He had been so reticent whenever she came near him that she wasn't certain how he would receive her request. An odd look crossed his face, gone before she could quite identify it.

  “Yes, certainly.” He opened his arms and stepped toward her.

  She put hers around him and laid her cheek against his shoulder. He held her awkwardly, trying to find the fine balance for a friendly hug between a man and a woman. This had always been difficult for him when he was attracted. He worried his body would betray his interest, and it was tricky to seem natural while keeping his pelvis maneuvered out of the way. On the other hand, he loved getting hugged. He was a warm and loving man, but tired of directing it at other men, and pretending attractions he didn't feel.

  This hug, though, was just what he needed right now. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of Seren's embrace, the warmth of her body pressed against him. He felt her inhale deeply and then she sighed contentedly.

  “Mmmmmm,” she murmured. “This is so nice.” She pulled back a half step. “Thank you, Daffyd. I really, really needed that.” She reached up and kissed his cheek, almost at the corner of his mouth. He merely nodded, not trusting his voice for a few seconds,

  Then he said simply, “I did, too.” He released her reluctantly. They looked at each other for a long moment before he turned to leave. At the door, he paused and looked back. “Goodnight, Seren. Sleep well.”

  “You too,” she smiled softly. He left, closing the door firmly behind him. He stopped at the linen closet again, and gathered up bedding for himself; a sheet, a blanket and a pillow were enough for a night on the couch. He walked down the stairs slowly, reliving the hug in his mind.

  He made himself a bed on the couch in the living room, grateful that it was such a big one. The idea of cramping his height and bulk on a too-small piece of furniture did not appeal to him in the least. This was long enough for him to be able to stretch out on, and deep enough to get comfortable.

  He undressed to his T-shirt and shorts, and lay down, using the folded sheet as top and bottom. He tugged the blanket into place, and wrestled the pillow into submission. He lay in the darkness, images of Seren alternating with the woman from last night. He wondered what ruckus his disappearance was causing at home. Then Seren drifted back, and in his mind's eye, kissed him on the lips instead of the cheek. He sighed, thinking how nice it would be if such a thing were possible.

  Upstairs, Seren had skinned out of her clothing to her panties, and then put her shirt back on in case she had to go to the bathroom in the night. It wouldn't do to run into poor Daffyd with her boobs hanging out. She grinned to herself at the thought, as she crawled into the bed. The clean sheets were cool and inviting. It felt so good just to relax, let all the tension flow out of her body. She lay in the velvet darkness, drifting closer to sleep. She hoped her children were all right, and not too worried about her. She hoped she would be able to find a way home soon. She thought about Devany and her world, and how much better off the little girl would be in Seren's. Wouldn't it be neat if she could bring her home? Funny idea.

  Daffyd's image floated into her mind, and wouldn't leave. The memory of the hug, the solid warmth of him in her arms, the gentle strength of his arms around her, his odd little smile, his humor, intelligence, and adaptability to this place ... all these kept circling in her head. She wondered what it would be like to really kiss him; he had a wonderfully expressive mouth that she wouldn't mind getting closer to. But then she remembered her theory t
hat he was gay.

  Darn! she thought. And he's such a teddy bear, too. How come all the seriously good men are gay or related to you? She snuggled into her pillows and was soon sound asleep, her dreams a jumbled confusion of home, Devany and Daffyd.

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  * * *

  CHAPTER 16

  Marie Lamère walked into the kitchen of the apartment she shared with Jessica Bricel. Marie had a copy of that morning's Montreal Gazette in her hand and an unhappy expression on her face. Jessica was sitting at the table, her morning coffee within easy reach and a pad of paper in front of her on which she was furiously scribbling notes for her exposé on ap Owen.

  “Have you seen this?” Marie asked, tossing the paper down on top of Jessica's work. Jess pushed it aside and continued writing.

  “It's the paper. So what?” She sipped at her coffee. Marie folded the paper to the headline she wanted Jess to read. She was extremely upset.

  When Jessica had gone out yesterday to hunt down and expose a famous twist, Marie had no idea she was after Daffyd ap Owen. Had she realized that he was the target of Jessica's story, Marie would have done her best to dissuade her ‘Significant Other’ from pursuing him. She loved his style, the distinct sound of an orchestra led by his inimitable genius. He was the last person on Earth she would have suspected to be hetero, but even if he were, it shouldn't matter. His sexual preference had nothing to do with his music, and it was none of her business. Seeing the video that Jess had taped last night had made her queasy. Not for the reasons that Jess believed; that she was nauseated watching her make out with a man, but for the disillusionment she felt seeing her hero kissing and fondling a woman. She knew that this story wasn't going to destroy ap Owen alone, but would devastate many of his fans as well. She wouldn't be the only one to feel betrayed somehow.

  She pointed to the picture and the headline, finally getting Jessica's attention. “LOOK!” Jess looked, then snatched the paper from Marie's hands and crowed.

  “This is great!” she laughed.

  “What!!” Marie was shocked at Jessica's reaction. Jess jumped to her feet, waving the paper.

  “Think about it, Marie!” Jess was jubilant. “He disappears the day after I get those videos ... Why? Because the dirty, disgusting freak knows his cover is blown. This is gonna sell my story even more!” She read over the article quickly, not seeing the growing anger in Marie's eyes. When she finally looked up from the paper, Jess was startled at the intensity of Marie's glare.

  “What's wrong with you?” Jess asked, genuinely confused.

  Marie was speechless for a moment, and then found voice, “What's wrong with me? Look at what you're doing! What you've done!” She snatched the paper from Jessica's hands. “What did he ever do to you that you decided to ruin his life? Why did you have to pick on him, of all the people out there, all the ones who are truly perverted ... why not go after one of them? What good are you going to do by destroying him?”

  “He's a freakin’ het, Marie! People have a right to know these things. What if it was our daughter he went after? What if it was her he wanted to stick that thing into?” She shuddered at the thought.

  “And what if that's what she wants when she grows up? What if she decides she wants to be with a man? You going to destroy her, too?” She rubbed her temples, realizing that Jess had deftly turned the argument away from the main point. She closed her eyes, and tried to calm herself. Lowering her tone, she said, “This isn't about Daphne, this is about you and your attack on Daffyd ap Owen. People have a right to listen to his music, go to his concerts, stop him in the street to ask for an autograph, or shake his hand ... they do not have the right to follow him into his bedroom to watch him do whatever he does, with whoever he does it with.” Her voice began to rise again with her ire. “Who is he hurting? Did you find him hanging around outside a school, waiting to lure young girls? No! You had to go to a Hettie bar to pick him up, and from what you said, you went after him. He was sitting there having drinks until you threw yourself all over him. And even if he had made the first move, he was looking for a grown woman who shared his taste in sex. BIG DAMN DEAL!”

  Jessica folded her arms across her chest and stared at Marie. “Why are you so worked up about this? Do you have hidden twist tendencies I should know about? Are you sure Daphne came from a donor at the Bank, not a live injection? You did go get fertilized without me being there.”

  Marie's mouth fell open. “Excuse me? You dare accuse me of having hetero leanings? You were the one with your tongue in his mouth, and his hands on your breasts! You sure weren't fighting him off too hard, not till the end, anyway.”

  “That was different! That was for my job!” Jessica was angry now, too. Things were beginning to spiral out of control, to her shock and horrified amazement. She had never thought Marie would be so defensive of a twist.

  Marie was still fighting the unjust accusations, “And for you to think that Daphne came from a live act ... that's just sick, Jessica! How could you even say such a thing?” She burst into tears and sat heavily at the table, her head on her arms, sobbing. Jessica hovered nearby, wondering what to do. Usually, she would put her arms around Marie, hold her and kiss her hair and tell her everything would be all right. She put a tentative hand on Marie's shoulder, stroking gently.

  Marie wanted to leap up and tell Jessica everything about Daphne's conception. When they had first decided to have a baby, the next big choice was which of them would be the birth mother, and which, the other mother. In typical ‘I-me-mine’ fashion, Jessica had explained all the reasons why she shouldn't bear the child herself; it would affect her career, she had to be able to keep going for long hours, she was the big money earner.

  Marie didn't really mind. She had always wanted the experience of pregnancy and delivery. Now, the next step was to go to the Procreation Bank, and choose a donor. The databases held information about thousands of men and women whose genetic material was available, cross-referenced according to race, hair and eye color, height, intelligence, talents and skills, almost anything that might be passed on to offspring. No donor could provide sperm or eggs for more than five offspring. This kept the gene pool diverse. And no one was exempt from providing a sample unless they carried some awful genetic illness.

  Most donor files had a picture, and the donor's name and city of residence. If they were agreeable, a face-to-face meeting could be arranged to find out what they were like in person. Secrecy was not generally a part of the system. Donors, male or female, had no legal ties to their biological children. Only the birth parent was responsible for the child.

  All in all, it was a big improvement over their grandparents’ days, when, if a woman wanted a child, she actually had to have sexual intercourse with a man. In fact, she frequently would make a deal to have two children, one for the father to raise, if he were so inclined. If he did not want that option, then they would make only the one baby. Marie had thought how natural that had been in many ways. It was a lot like some animal societies, where the males lived separate lives, joining the females only to reproduce and then going about their own business. Still, she was glad she had this option, and didn't have to endure the violation of her body merely for the sake of having a baby. She couldn't understand why some women would want that, but as long as no one was forcing her, she didn't really care.

  Jessica and Marie had talked and talked about what they wanted for their baby. But Jessica's career kept interfering in their plans. Twice they had made plans to go to the Proc-Bank to search the computers, and twice Jessica had failed to show up. Oh, she had had the most plausible excuses, but it should have been a warning sign. The third time, she had told Marie she just couldn't get out of a prior commitment, and that Marie should just go have it done. Jessica trusted Marie's judgment. Angry and hurt, Marie had gone alone.

  She had been skimming through the files, glancing at this and that attribute, looking at the pictures of the donors, when an idea crossed her min
d. She quickly keyed in the name of the donor she was hoping for. To her delight, three samples remained and none had been claimed for future use.

  She smiled to herself as she noted the information code she needed to request insemination. He was perfect; intelligent, musical, tall, with amazing blue eyes that seemed to stare right out of the monitor. She double-checked the code to make sure she had copied it down correctly.

  She approached the woman at the desk. The woman smiled brightly. “Have you made your decision?”

  “Yes, I have, but the sample isn't here. How long does it take to get it shipped in?” She passed the slip of paper with the reference number on it to the clerk, who quickly keyed it in.

  “Oh, from New York ... it should be here the day after tomorrow. We'll call you.”

  “Thank you so much. Um, I was wondering if I could reserve the last two from that donor?” She smiled hopefully. The clerk's eyebrows lifted in surprise. It was unusual to encounter someone planning to have three children, but she made the notation on the file.

  “There you go,” she said to Marie. “All done. If you don't make use of one sample in three years, it will revert back to free access. You do know this?”

  “Yes, I do. Thank you again.” She smiled hugely.

  The clerk smiled back. “This is an exciting beginning for you,” she said. “Here, you'll need this when you come back for the procedure.” She passed her a small card with the information the nurse would need when Marie came in for her insemination. She looked it over carefully before tucking it into her wallet. It read Marie Tanya Lamère, 05-712-86-934, Daffyd Merlys ap Owen.